DOING THE WORK // 2.13.03

HOW TO NOT SELL OUT IN TWO DAYS OR LESS
by Harris O'Malley

February 4, 2003

Watching the Columbia break up was not really the way I wanted to start my first convention.

I had gotten on my plane by the skin of my teeth, went through a nerve-wracking flight into San Francisco and had the great joy of watching one of the boxes I packed fall to pieces as I pick it up, thanks to the rather… enthusiastic… handling of the baggage authority. So I hastily repack my bags, get to the Best Western and (after more fun with the front desk, thanks to my having made my reservation through a travel agency) finally collapse into my bed.

Funny how every cheap hotel room smells almost exactly the same, isn't it? I don't know why that stands out so prominently, but it does.

I dutifully set my alarm to wake me up with enough time to actually shower, eat and still get to the Concourse on time, failing to notice that it was reading 12:00 PM, rather than AM. So when I wake up and see that it's 6:30 in the evening, I begin to panic. I flip on the TV to find any channel that would have the current time running and I watch the Space Shuttle disintegrate before my very eyes.

Luckily for me, this wasn't the omen that I was afraid it would turn out to be. I got to the Concourse with time to spare (and to my surprise and pleasure, found myself sharing a cab with one of the many Delphi peeps I would be meeting over the course of the weekend) and got to my table, no problem.

This is where the learning experience comes in.

I prefer calling it a learning experience because it makes it feel somewhat better.

Unfortunately, I did not in fact sell out my entire print run and set the comic reading world on fire. I did sell a respectable number, certainly more than I've sold all year, so it wasn't a complete loss. I also gave out well over 500 stickers, all with my company name, logo and website URL, which will hopefully turn into hits and sales. However, the most valuable thing I got from it was learning a lot more about trying to sell at a convention.

For starters: FOR GOD'S SAKE, SHIP YOUR COMICS IN ADVANCE!!! Genius that I am, I decided to bring my copies of BETWEEN THE CRACKS in the boxes they came in from the printer. Of course, between dropping the cats off at my mother's and heading to the airport, it dawned on me that I wasn't allowed to check that many items.

Not a problem, I'll just pack 'em in a suitcase.

…

Ooops.

Lesson two: Don't overestimate your chances. I decided to bring the entire print-run with me, because I was convinced that I would need 'em all. The look that the man at the American ticket counter gave me as my one checked bag weighed in at over 100lbs was priceless. With any luck, I'll find some excuse to use it in a comic one of these days. And there are few things more miserable than walking the streets of San Francisco while wheeling a hundred pounds of comics behind you.

First thing I learned after actually getting to the convention and getting set up: don't do a half-table. If you can't afford a full table, don't bother. All that will happen is that you and your tablemates will find yourselves competing for the same passers-by; this is awkward both for you and the guests, since they'll rarely be interested in your comics and theirs. You'll also find yourselves constantly having to explain that no, you're not part of the same company, which while not critical, gets annoying fairly quickly.

I was lucky. I had the table to myself the first day, and when they came on the second day, my tablemates turned out to be a very nice and obscenely talented couple from Canada and I wish them all the success in the world. If you ever see a copy of A MONK'S TALE in stores, I heartily recommend you pick up several copies.

This of course, didn't make things easier when they sold every copy they brought with them in record time. Grr.

You also need to get people to your table. A visible and attractive display helps, as does having a variety of things for sale and for people to flip through. The table next to mine had a banner, a tablecloth, stands for their graphic novels, glasses and shot-glasses with their logo etched in, a portfolio with character designs from an upcoming project, T-shirts taped to the wall behind them and a sign advertising who they were. Their table was pretty much swamped from the minute the con started.

I, sadly, did not have anything. I did, however, have stickers. Any time someone either met my gaze for longer than a second or wandered too close to the table, I would offer them a sticker. This, as it turns out, is a good way to get people to at least look at your stuff. Giving free promotional swag makes people feel at least somewhat obligated to come by and look at what you have to offer, even if they're not really interested. After all, you've just given them something. Your goal then is to make them linger for as long as humanly possible; the longer they stay, the more likely they are to actually buy something. Of course, every once in a while you get the experienced con-goer who has twigged to this and they will avoid you as if you offered to give them leprosy. These people are evil.

I also noticed something interesting while I was busy giving away stickers: for some reason, people are much more likely to accept smaller, rectangular stickers than they are larger square stickers. I don't know why.

Also: do not offer your promotional materials only to the cute girls who walk by. People will notice. Similarly, do not offer your promotional materials only to guys. Again, people will notice. And if one person in a group comes over and the others linger behind, make sure to offer whatever you're handing out to them as well. At the very least, it'll hopefully bring them closer to the table.

It often helps to come up with a high-concept for your series and to be able to rattle it off at the drop of a hat. I had a sizable number of people ask me what the series was about, without picking up the comic or glancing at the cover for longer than 30 seconds. An example: "It's an urban-fantasy anthology series, exploring the mythology of a city where the flickers in the corner of your eyes linger for just a little too long and the shadows are just a little too dark." With luck this will either convince the prospective customer to buy a copy right then and there, or at least flip through the pages.

Unless, of course, they're one of the types who will sit there and methodically read through Every! Single! Issue! then put it down and walk away. These people are the Enemy and they must be clubbed like baby seals.

If your individual comics aren't self-contained stories, you might want to make sure you have as complete a run as possible; at least to the end of the story line. I've found that people new to anything you might be selling won't want to stop in the middle; I had to explain repeatedly that the series was an anthology and the only thing that really carried over between issues was the setting.

Then of course, there was the one guy who flipped through a book, put it down and told me he'd wait for the trade.

What the fuck, over?

It's a frikkin' mini-comic! If you don't buy it, there might not be a fourth issue, nevermind a trade! Sheesh!

Also: Stand as often as possible. Trust me. If I had only one reoccurring thought during the con it was "I can't feel my ass!"

Finally, try your damndest to bring someone with you; friends, relatives, a booth-bunny, something. This way, you'll have someone to man the table while you run about meeting old friends for the first time and checking out the 'con, as well as someone to run and grab food. If you're by yourself, be sure to bring food or make arrangements to get food beforehand. It doesn't have to be anything large; in fact, something small and nibbly is probably a better idea, since you can munch on it relatively unobtrusively. But when you've been at the table for five hours without a break and you're trying to sell the latest visitor on your "Please God Don't Make Me Take All Of These Home" sale, the last thing you want is for your blood-sugar levels to suddenly plummet.

It was an incredible time. I got to meet a huge number of people I've known only as screen-names and posts on web forae, made an ass out of myself in front of Terry Moore, made several new friends and valuable contacts and possibly might have landed some limited distribution.

But if only I had actually sold more comics….